What is left behind
by willowfairy
Summary: COMPLETE Dark toned sequel to 'Interesting Choices'. The broken pieces of Hermione's life, the only things left behind.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

_Seven bloody, turmoil filled years have past. The war is finally over._

_It all started that fateful Christmas. Voldemort managed to attack the Hogwarts express just as it pulled into the station. Hundreds were killed outright, hundreds more were wounded. _

_One woman blamed herself for not speaking loud enough. For giving in when she could have stopped this. She worked tirelessly for seven years, attempting to atone for her sin. To try to erase the blood she knew was on her hands. People fell around her, but she never gave up, she couldn't give up. The demons in her soul would not let her. Over and over she asked for and took the most dangerous assignments, knowing she would face Him eventually. She knew she could not die until she could._

_She had to know why. Why He had chosen to tell her that day and not someone who would be heard._

_Perhaps He knew no one would listen. Perhaps He knew The Boy Who Lived was not having visions or feelings of danger. Perhaps He knew that they would think it a dirty trick, a trick worthy of a Slytherin. In any case, He knew that they would not listen and that her cries would go unheeded._

_She hated him for it. Hated Him for the blood He had poured so liberally on her hands. Hated him for the blood that had splashed back onto His self. His mother went quickly, she was weak and an easy target. Many believed Voldemort had done it, but He knew the truth. _

_She knew because He wrote her again to tell her. He was angry, the handwriting was harsh and He had ripped through the paper. His father had destroyed His mother, used her as a tool and then disposed of her. He wanted revenge, but it was too soon and He would be suspect. So He waited. For years, He waited while the bloody war waged around Him and her. He always wrote her, she knew she had become His sanity. _

_The letters were never regular, never expected, and never more helpful than as an expression of the blackness He had fallen into and the tarnish that had grown upon His soul. He knew His life was forfeit the second it was known. Still, He wrote to her, trying to save His soul._

_She hated Him for it._

_But then it was over. She had hoped to die. At the end, she thought she no longer cared if she saw Him. She was tired and had given up hope of ever seeing Him, the only piece of her that was still sane. _

_The last battle was something best left forgotten, transcribed into the histories and never spoken of again. The death toll was mind-numbing. She was almost completely alone in the world. The Boy Who Lived no longer lived, but neither did his rival. They had destroyed each other and the square around them and all the people in it. Death Eaters and Aurors alike fell in the final blast._

_She had not been there._

_Neither had He._

_She hated herself for it. Hated Him because He had been the one to call her away. He asked to meet her, to explain._

_He had saved her life again and she hated Him with every part of her body._

_But she loved Him even more._


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

She was tired of it. She was tired of the fake smiles, of acting happy when there was nothing left of me inside to be cheerful. There was no reason to be cheerful. The war was over, but there were not many left.

Someone spoke of rebuilding, but she glared at him in contempt. He had not fought beside them, he had no right to the worship of the people.

But he did. He had been a coward, always staying behind the lines. But now, he was a hero. He was on of Dumbledore's Army.

One of the few left standing.

They had asked her if she wanted the job. If she wanted to be Minister and to rebuild the broken world the war had left behind. She didn't answer. She merely stood and walked from the room. So they chose the next best thing. She didn't even remember his name.

She spent a lot of time with her thoughts. People tended to avoid her now, only Ginny would come close anymore. Mrs. Weasley had become a shell after the death of her husband. Charlie blamed himself for Bills death. Fred was confined to Saint Mungo's after George's death. He would never come home. Ron had been at Harry's side, ever faithful, even to the end. Lupin was also on that battlefield, Tonks had gone early on. Mad-Eye had survived, though no one was sure how. Neville was a ghost of the man he had become over those seven years. Ginny still clung to him, trying to save him with the part of her heart that hadn't died on the battlefield with Harry that day.

Of what would have been her graduating class, ten people survived.

She hated herself for being one of them. She was supposed to have been on that battlefield as well. If she had….

If again. The world haunted her dreams and her waking reality.

She had to get away. She couldn't handle the stares, the whispers any longer.

'There she goes' they say, 'the one who lived.'

No one knew why she had survived. She refused to say. Refused to admit that she was going to be meeting Him. The thought haunted her dreams. He had never come, but when she heard the blast, she knew He had saved her again.

She still did not know why.

He no longer wrote to her.

She stood and picked up the small bag she had packed. It wouldn't do to bring anything else. There wasn't anything to take. There was only one picture left.

The four of them as they had been. When they were young, happy and completely carefree. Waving out of the frame, they horsed around. Harry would kiss Ginny and Ron would go red. Hermione would laugh. Then they would all come together again, holding each other tightly as if they would never let go.

The dream was broken now.

There was no reason to stay.

She left.

The frame remained on the table.

This world was completely different. Stepping off the plane, she was struck by the light that struck her eyes. The people were bright and happy, they talked fast, but their manners were slow. The barrage of sound was too much. She escaped into the bathroom, but she could not stay there forever. She stared at herself in the mirror until her color returned and she knew she would not break down. The memories had been locked away and she would not touch them until it was her time. It was another world, one she would never return to. Ginny had known this when they said goodbye.

At least she had gotten to say goodbye instead of-

No.

She picked up her small bag and walked out of the bathroom. She had gone as far away as she could. When she told her parents, they were happy. They had been in America for years. They knew nothing of what she had become.

They never would.

She would not go to them. She couldn't. They would want to know and she could never talk about it. Instead she moved across the country from them too. California. The sun always shone here, they said. The earthquakes were a small matter. She bought a house in a city that was nothing like the city she had left behind. This one was much brighter, things moved differently. She was a novelty with her accent. She got a job with a potions developing lab.

She could not give up magic too. That would have killed her even more thoroughly. Then she would have ended it all. Her co-workers thought her strange. She didn't speak, and when they spoke to her, the darkness of her eyes stopped the words in their throats and they left her alone.

She was good at what she did. Snape would have been proud, had he not been murdered in front of her eyes as a traitor and a turncoat by Voldemort.

He had not been happy about that either.

She still had the letters. Every one of them. She could not give them up either because it was her sanity wrapped up in them too.

It was her proof that her pain was real. That it was justified.

Proof that she did still hate Him.

She knew her sanity was slipping, but still no more letters came. She knew that He was alive, but still He did not write. He had been cleared, how she did not know. Then He had disappeared, as she had.

She had to find a way to escape herself.

The second week she found it. As she passed the club, the music beckoned. She remembered a happier summer, a summer that seemed so far away. A summer of music, flashing lights and the joy of escaping it all. She walked in, receiving an odd look from the bouncer. It was full of men, and inwardly she laughed. She checked her coat, bought a drink she didn't touch. She waited to leave.

The lights turned on. The music stopped. She was alone on the dance floor. She left, but she felt light. Lighter than she had in years.

The pain was back the next morning. She went to a different club that night and left when they closed. The next night she did it again. She didn't need to sleep. The movement was her rest. She began to change her appearance. Each night she was a different woman. It was easier that way. She would apparate across the country some nights. Go somewhere new. It was her release. Her freedom. Her sanity.

Then one night, she found she had a partner. One who moved the same way she did, one whose eyes were as haunted as hers. She refused to believe it until three weeks later and the partner appeared again. She told herself it wasn't possible. It happened again, a few nights later.

The next morning, there was an owl at her window.

A big, black eagle owl.

* * *

Authors Note: Well, the muse hasn't let go, so I'm going to write until I pass out from exhaustion or she leaves, whichever comes first. This is going to be a fairly dark piece. I don't know how it will end until I get there and feel that it is finished. If this tale could ever be finished. I know it's very disjointed and may be hard to understand. Hermione is not thinking clearly, she is not a whole person any longer. Any critics are welcome. Flames are not. Reviews will be loved.

Thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, the words and ideas are. I promise to give the characters back when I'm through, I don't think you'll want the ideas.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Her vision narrowed to a dim tunnel and her breathing sped up. The owl pecked at the window again. She moved slowly to the window to let it in. She pulled the letter off and it bit her finger again. The pain was familiar and she merely glared at it before it flew off. A drop of blood from the cut fell onto the letter, staining a corner of the pristine white paper. She ignored it, she had had much, much worse. She sat on the couch, one that had come with the apartment. It had a funny smell that she didn't usually notice. But now she was hyper aware of everything around her. It had been almost a year since the last letter.

The one that saved her life.

She didn't want to read this one. It would only remind her. She had locked it all away. She did not want to think of Him again.

He was the only one who really understood. The only one who was as empty as she was.

She still hated Him for what He had done.

Now she hated Him for reminding her of it again.

She opened the letter, waiting for the familiar handwriting to fill her mind. But this time it was different. His hand had been shaking. She had only seen this type of writing once before. After His mother had been killed. He had been very, very angry then. She wasn't sure if she could handle more of His anger. She was angry enough at Him for writing her in the first place. He was supposed to stay in the world she had left behind.

She missed Him so much it hurt again.

The anger at Him for causing the hurt made her pick up the page to read his words.

_You're wondering why this came, now of all times. I wish I knew myself. You weren't supposed to be there. It couldn't have been you. You live across the country from this place.  
No, I haven't been spying on you. I just know. I always know where you are. You are a part of me, just as I am a part of you. We always have been each others other half, you know.  
I hate me too. With every breath I take I know I should be dead.  
It wasn't you.  
She was blonde, raven haired, the other a tall red-head.  
You aren't. I won't let you be anything but what you were then. You know when I mean. I know you're remembering it as I speak.  
But then again, I know you're not. You won't let yourself. Just like me. We are so alike. Two peas in a pod as the muggles say. You didn't leave it behind. I know you still have it. Let it go. Let me go.  
I hate you. With every breath. I hate you because you are me and I am you and I loathe myself. If I see you again, I will kill you. Stay away from me. I mean it. Stay on your own side of the country.  
I hate you. You disgust me, each breath you take is foul, blacker than my soul.  
I do. Don't shake your head. And don't say it._

_please don't say it._

"I love you too." She whispered into the air, then collapsed into a dead faint.

She awoke to the sunset out the window. She stumbled to the kitchen, groggy from the sleep she did not usually partake in. Only the movement could keep away the darkness. For a few hours she was free of everything. Nothing could touch her.

He had tainted it.

She knew something would eventually. She was not allowed to have anything anymore. She gave up that right the day no one listened. The day she became covered in blood. When she became indebted to Him.

She ate mechanically. Someone had actually spoken to her, told her she was too thin. She looked at herself in another mirror. She did not recognize herself. She rarely did anymore. The haunted eyes scared her, staring out of a too-thin face. It was pale, she spent no time in the sun. The lips were cracked and light, they were almost non-existent. Her throat was thin, her shoulders bony. She pulled the clothing from her body to look at it. The skin hung on her frame, bones overly-prominent. Her breasts had shrunk to the size of a young girls, every rib could be counted. Her hip bones looked sharp and jagged without the fat that had been there, she could faintly remember complaining about it a bit at some point to two faces that refused to clear. Faces that had laughed with her. Her legs were still fairly long, but gone were the thighs and shapely calves. Her feet even looked too small.

She had become a skeleton.

But one that refused to stop breathing.

She pulled her clothing back on, refusing to succumb to the shivers. She would not dance tonight. It was not because of him, she told herself firmly. He was across the country.

Instead, she walked to her room and pulled out the small box. It held a picture. Three young children, two boys and a girl smiled at the camera, their arms awkwardly around each other. She set it aside and pulled out the next object. Three chunks of hair, carefully braided together. One black as coal, one red as fire, the third a rich brown. She remembered they had called her crazy when she cut them from the bodies, then a locket of her own. The next day she cut all her hair off. The third item was a folded piece of paper, worn through in a few places. She did not open it, the entire thing was already drawn in sharp detail in her mind. She knew the names she wanted to read there would not be there, so she did not open it. The last thing she pulled from the box was a yellowed handkerchief. She unfolded it slowly, carefully. Inside was a beautiful sapphire and silver necklace in the shape of a crescent moon. She lifted it from the handkerchief and let it dangle from her fingers. It had never been worn, it had been too painful at the time. She laughed bitterly at herself. She had no idea what pain was then. What it really meant to have a hole ripped in your heart, a hole that could never be filled because it belonged to two people who were never coming back. Two people she should have gone with.

She didn't think she could ever forgive Him for that. For robbing her of that chance. They were her life and they had gone, leaving her.

She let the tears fall for the first time since that day. Through her tears, the necklace caught the light, sending sparkles spinning through the air.

She carefully repacked the box, leaving the handkerchief for last.

He wanted her to let Him go.

She wanted Him to be as miserable as she was.

She clasped the necklace around her neck, then apparated. She knew where He would be. She always knew. He had surprised her the first time, and again the second. She hadn't let herself think of Him. The third time she had glared at Him the entire time. He refused to meet her eyes, but He could not keep Himself away from her. He growled at any other person that came close to her. He left when she did. When the lights turned on. They did not speak. He went to one side of the country, she the other.

This time, she would not let Him leave her again. She was going to make Him miserable. Make His existence as terrible as hers. She would make Him hate her again, as she would hate Him. Only hate. Nothing else was allowed anymore.

She opened her eyes to see His inches away. Her hand flew up before the thought finished crossing her mind. She felt her finger snap as she slapped Him.

Then His lips closed over hers and everything else stopped.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

She was there, in His arms the next day. The night before had been a blur. They had hurt each other, lashing out in a shared pain. Then they held onto each other, neither willing to let go or surrender to sleep. But still, she awoke to find herself still in His arms.

She hated herself for it, but found herself unable to move. He was paler than she was, but not as thin. Muscles could still be felt beneath the skin, rock hard. He opened His eyes and she was lost in the dark silver depths of them again. He took her harshly, but she never cried out. Pain to her body did not matter anymore. The only pain that could hurt her was the one in her heart. The same pain that stared at her from His eyes.

But she could not look away.

He left, but came back with food. When she turned away, He forced it between her lips. Bite after bite until He was satisfied. Then He ate. She watched His careful hands, hands that had held her so close before and hands that had abused her. He saw that in her eyes, and He took her again, gently this time using His hands to soothe her.

She let Him, knowing He would be gone again soon. She slept again and awoke to find herself alone in the bed.

He entered the room, more food. She shook her head. Food was pointless. Didn't He know she wanted to die? That she was better off dead, as was He? Life only hurt. She lashed out at Him in her pain, slapping Him and screaming wordlessly. He endured the torment until she collapsed. Then He lifted her onto the bed and pulled her close to Him. She turned and faced Him, wrapping Him into herself. She held Him tight, not wanting to let Him go. Knowing He would be gone when she awoke.

The room was dark, her arms were empty. She began to cry, but He appeared suddenly in the darkness, skin bright in the light of the waning moon. He held her again and she cried until she fell asleep. The pain washed over her over and over, coloring her dreams. She cried out and He held her closer. She attacked Him viciously in her sleep, blaming Him for everything. He took the blows. He knew He was at fault. He could have stopped it all, but He never did. He deserved this.

He deserved much, much worse.

He wondered, as she slept fitfully, how He could have harmed her as He did. How He had called her to Him in His selfishness. He knew she would rather have gone with the two, but He couldn't let her. His hatred of her was far too great, she had had everything He had ever wanted. Had taken it for granted, flaunted it in front of Him.

He was not so sure it was what He had actually wanted now. She was even more of a shell than He, the one He had known before was so far gone, He was unsure if He could ever bring her back.

If she would let Him bring her back.

He hated her.

That hatred was but the tiniest splash in the ocean of His love for her.

She opened her eyes again, and He saw the surprise there.

"You should be gone." Her voice was nothing more than a cracked whisper.

"You should be dead." He replied.

It was the first words they had spoken to each other in almost a decade.

It was enough.

She fell back into sleep, angry at Him, angry at her dreams. The dreams she had managed to keep away for so long, He brought them back. Made her remember. Made her hurt.

She hated Him for it.

Even in her sleep she was angry, and she lashed out, again and again until her muscles grew too tired to obey her. She began to make a keening sound. He pulled her close and it stopped. He moved away and it started again. He pulled her too Him, folding her small body into His larger frame. The night passed.

The phone rang, waking them both with a start. Hands reached for weapons that were no longer there. Weapons that had not been there for a long time now. He stood and moved to the phone, grunting into it. He turned from her and spoke a few words, then hung up. When He turned back, she was standing dressed before Him. She moved toward the door, but He moved in front of her, pulling her to Him again. She fought for a minute, then sagged into Him. He carried her back to bed, then went for food.

This time she ate on her own. Then she slept again. The dark circles under her eyes remained unchanged. Her sparse body looked as broken as her insides were. He watched her sleep, never moving too far away. She would keen if He did. He did not want to leave her. His anger at her for being away for so long faded as He watched her sleep. His hatred slipped away, unable to find a foothold any longer. The feeling struck Him hard. He had never loved anyone like this before. He was unable to breathe, and His gasping made her open her eyes. Eyes that were wet with more tears. He brushed them away, marveling at how soft her skin still was. She watched Him intently, almost as if waiting for Him to leave.

He never would.

He didn't think she would ever understand that.

He wasn't too sure He would either.

Her sleep became more restful. He made food and it was in the room when she woke. She ate slowly, but not as much as He would have liked. He pressed more on her but she glared at Him and He moved away. He crawled into bed beside her again and they slept through the night.

The phone rang again the next morning. He was surprised to find her not in His arms. He panicked for a moment until He heard the shower. She came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head. His heart slowed and He answered the phone. It was the same short conversation. He hung up and walked to the kitchen for food. He came back to find her sitting in bed, covers pulled up over her chest. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead. She winced and He stepped away and placed the tray on her lap. She finished most of it.

He watched her while she ate, seemingly unable to understand how she was still here, in His bed. She should have killed Him and left by now.

Maybe her hatred had been the same as His. He looked at her, she glared up at Him. She was still very, very angry. He didn't blame her. Couldn't blame her. It was all His fault anyway. She slid down into the bed again, her eyes on Him. He set the tray aside and moved over her again.

It was gentler this time. Afterward she cried softly and He held her close until she slept. He rose from the bed and moved through the cluttered house. The late afternoon sun lit the rooms, rays carving through the dust that hung in the air. The soft lapping sound from the ocean slipped through the opened windows on the edge of a cool breeze. He stepped out onto the small back patio, staring out at the endless water. The sun caressed each scar on His pale and bare body. There were many scars, each with a memory better left buried in the sand.

He turned His left arm over to look at the place the mark should be, but only thin white lines remained. Old white lines.

He looked back to the water.

She stood beside Him, the sheet wrapped around her sparse form. She looked at Him.

"I know." He said softly.

She was gone.

The wind picked up and He was chilled. He walked back inside the house, back to His empty bed.

He woke the next morning, dressed for work. He still had the wealth of generations, wealth He had doubled through investments made before and during the war. He was respected, worshipped by women who only saw the handsome face and not the haggard man who hid beneath it.

There was only one woman for Him anyway.

His secretary greeted Him, He nodded and moved into the lush office. No photos graced the walls, they were painted a soft color. Bookshelves stuffed full and disorganized along with a slightly cluttered desk were the only indications that the office was inhabited. The men who worked for Him had offices full of pictures of children and grand-children. He avoided those offices.

He read and signed the papers neatly set on His desk. He thought of her.

Of what could have been had be been braver. He could have ended it early, saved her the pain.

He had been selfish. He had wanted her all to Himself.

Now He had her, but she was not the same. She had buried herself deeper than He thought He could go. He vowed He would find her again, bring her back to Himself. He stood from his desk, ignoring the ringing phone.

His secretary called after Him, but the calls went unheeded. He dropped the mobile in the elevator, along with His tie. He apparated to her, shocking the others in the lab. She glared at Him, told Him to leave with her eyes. He shook His head. The force of her hatred washed over Him in that instant and His heart twisted in His chest. He gasped in pain.

She collapsed. He picked her up and cradled her body. Liquids dripped onto the floor from the countertops where the glass had all shattered.

"You won't leave me again Draco Malfoy." She spoke without opening her eyes.

"No, Hermione."

It was enough.

* * *

Authors note: Wow. I guess that is it. I thought this would go on much longer than it has. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it, as dark as it is. Thank you for reading. 


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